


Comfort Food

by rig_ma_role



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Age Difference, Aged up Johnny Suh, Aged up Moon Taeil, Alternate Universe - Hannibal (TV) Fusion, Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Food, M/M, Mentioned Lee Donghyuck | Haechan, Wine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:21:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29656782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rig_ma_role/pseuds/rig_ma_role
Summary: There's something about Dr. John Suh.
Relationships: Mark Lee/Suh Youngho | Johnny
Comments: 21
Kudos: 95





	Comfort Food

**Author's Note:**

> A Hannibal AU (TV version).  
> For fans of the series: find the little tidbits of the series I've sprinkled in here :D
> 
> Warnings; cannibalism, murder and basic Hannibal shenanigans.  
> The gory stuff isn't too detailed I guess, in terms of canon Hannibal. But be warned yeah ( ꈍᴗꈍ)  
> No MCD, cause I don't vibe with that.  
> I posted the draft earlier *face palms* any whoozles...onwards...

Every move he makes is poised and calculated. Absentminded mistakes and clumsiness do not have any leeway in his existence. So, Johnny is well aware that he's not responsible for knocking over the bright eyed boy who's shuffling back on to his feet with a thousand sorrys falling off his tongue like the sweetest honey.

Patting down his suit, Johnny makes sure nothing has stained it during the unfortunate collision. Of the many indulgences he revels in, his suits have a special place. Crisp, clean cut and tailored to perfection. Johnny likes beautiful things. He likes politeness and art and anything that engages him in the doldrums of daily life. And this boy, he is lovely.

Button nose and perfectly poised cheekbones sloping down to lips the color of exquisite Rosé. A beautiful boy that deserves to be immortalized on canvas. An artistic rendition in flesh, of subtlety curled hair and sable eyes.

"Oh my god I am so sorry mister. I wasn't looking where I was going…" then with a peek into the grocery bag in his hand, "oh thank God the eggs haven't cracked. Would have been really bad if I got egg on your very nice suit."

Johnny abhors rudeness and he'd been ready to _make amends_ , but the concerned face and the numerous apologies appease him. This angelic child is merely...uncoordinated, not rude.

Maybe ' _child'_ is too infantile of a word to use. The nervous fidgeting mess in front of him is full north of his teens and the lushness of his lips as he licks them while eying Johnny from head to toe says that he isn't as innocent as perceived.

"Again, I'm sorry about bumping into you."

"Oh, that's fine. Though I would recommend you don't run in the grocery store like an eleven year old" Johnny replies with a placating smile. A maybe smirk, the kind that a father bestows upon an unruly child.

The flush that travels from ear to ear over the boy's cheeks excites him.

"Oh my god that's...I'm twenty three-" Ah so he doesn't want to be seen as a child. Interesting.

"-and I was rushing to get eggs because...wait that's not important..." the boy chuckles sheepishly. "Umm no harm done I suppose...I'll be off."

"Yes I _suppose_ " Johnny concedes, and lets the kid pass by him through the spice aisle. It's almost too easy to sneak the wallet out of his pocket.

The insides are almost barren spare a dollar note, a few quarters and a driver's license with the name **'Mark Lee'**.

Johnny is...intrigued.

* * *

Mark is clumsy. He's lost his wallet for the second time this year and Hyuck, his lovable yet mildly irritating roommate, is going to murder him if he finds out.

It isn't like he had anything valuable in it, a measly dollar…..maybe two at most, but his driver's license was in there and he'd rather face the devil himself than go back to the DMV to get it reissued.

Refusing to be caught dead behind the wheel without the silly plastic card of approval, he opts to take the bus to his morning lecture. But public transport is as erratic as a Spring shower and Mark is definitely late for the academy. With his damn tardiness he isn't going to be able to join the FBI Behavioral Science Unit anytime soon.

Contrary to most people's assumptions, Mark followed an unconventional path after University. Studying psychopaths day in and day out should get tedious and traumatizing, but to him it's oddly cathartic. The human mind has an intimate attraction to the macabre and Mark's fascination with all things gruesome ran deeper than most, leading him to where he is today…..a little late and getting a mild scolding from Kim Doyoung, who is standing at the podium, behind which shocking images of the newest _Ripper_ case is displayed.

"Take a seat Mr. Lee. Next time I won't be letting you in if you're late."

Mark utters a sighed out _sorry_ and sneaks into the empty seat next to Jeno. He is greeted with a familiar eye-smile , before Jeno turns back to Mr. Kim's presentation.

"For those of you who came late," Mr. Kim says with a pointed stare that bores into Mark's skull, "this is the twelfth confirmed Ripper case within the last three years. Found exactly five days ago."

Mark knows that. He knows it like the back of his hand. ' _The Ripper'_ a rather graceless name for a graceful killer. Mark's interest (obsession Hyuck would probably interject), in the Ripper began quite a while back. His University thesis was hinged on the meticulous serial killer, who's only poignant MO was theatrics and artistry. A glaring observation in the currently displayed body on the screen.

A beautiful man, with the skin of his back flayed, spread and pinned by ornate bolts. Like a butterfly in a glass display. His hands cradled over his crotch, ribs cracked apart and his heart….missing.

"So which one of you can tell me the reason we've categorized this as a Ripper killing and not some other crazy psycho?" Mr. Kim asks with a shrewd stare. He's back at picking out the slow ones, Mark realizes, and he waits for some dumbass to speak up with the most obvious answer.

And not even two seconds later…. "Because the scene is complex and...you know...kind of overkill." A voice says from about three or four rows behind him. Mark stifles a snort.

Mr. Kim's disappointed sigh is resounding. "Yes, that is one reason but anyone with eyes could probably tell you that. And anyone who watched some overhyped serial killer show and had a knife in their hands could also create a dramatic murder scene. So, it doesn't necessarily rule this as a Ripper killing. Would someone else like to add to that?"

Mark waits to see if anyone is forthcoming, but Mr. Kim's rebuttal has left people feeling a little anxious to voice anything out loud.

So, he raises a hand politely and waits for Mr. Kim to give a nod to proceed.

"The dramatic display of the body is definitely one reason, but what pinpoints this as a Ripper killing, is the surgical precision of the mutilation, the symbolism of wings carved from his back that gives some insight to this man's death and the missing heart. The ripper always takes a trophy."

Mr. Kim's nod of approval stirs a feeling of accomplishment in Mark's chest but it's nothing compared to the rush of picking apart every little detail of the Ripper's newest art-piece. Because that's what it is...an art piece. A terrible, ruthless art piece.

Looking up at the distressing portrayal of man to a butterfly, Mr. Kim _hmms_ , and then turns his gaze back on to Mark. "You say that he establishes his reason into the mutilation of the body, can you explain further?"

Mark has been studying the Ripper for far too long not to piece together the puzzle. "Yeah, the flesh of his back, you've noted it down as 'angel's wings' on the slideshow, but I think it's actually butterfly wings. He's been pinned down, like a butterfly. A beautiful creature, but vain. The Ripper displays contempt towards the victim. His hands are positioned over his genitals, in embarrassment, not for modesty. I'd comment that he's lacking in that department, but I wouldn't want to assume." He hears a few snickers from some of the students. "And finally, the missing heart. Either resembling that this man is heartless, or he doesn't deserve to have a heart. Either way something to do with emotions ."

"Quite a thorough analysis Mr. Lee. We could even think you'd done the deed yourself." Mr. Kim chuckles and proceeds to explain in detail each of the evidence that Mark had stated.

He isn't fazed by Mr. Kim's comment. Mark's had much of the similar type of mud slung his way every now and then. It is his own fault for immersing himself in the Ripper murders. Spend too much time studying the crazies...people assume you become one yourself.

Straightening up in his seat, Mark concentrates back on Mr. Kim's lecture. But a soft nudge at his side has him turning towards Jeno, who has a coy grin on his face. "You could never be the Ripper." He says with a derisive snort. "Way too clumsy, you'd probably accidentally get blood on your clothes and then loose the murder weapon to boot."

Mark shrugs sheepishly. He really can't refute it though. Much like the certainty that the sun rises in the East, the sky is blue, and the grass is green….Mark Lee is clumsy.

His lost wallet is proof enough.

* * *

Johnny sighs and pushes up the sleeves of his white shirt, irritated. The day has been trying, to say the least. He'd gone through four back to back sessions with his clients. Running his own private psychiatric practice is sometimes not worth the trouble he has to go through with these people.

His final patient for the day, a sniveling mess of a man drowning in inferiority issues up to his neck, had been beyond infuriating. Constantly crying about how his best friend was leaving him for greener pastures and how he was going to be all alone. Johnny had offered him a tissue to wipe up the snot that was dripping down his rotund face and the rude idiot had used it and dropped it on Johnny's favorite end table.

The man's incessant blubbering of how Johnny was his _new best friend_ probably wasn't the best outcome to be born from their session.

Johnny picks up the dustbin from next to his desk and flicks the used tissue into it with the edge of a very sharp pencil. It was a good thing he didn't have it in hand earlier. The urge to stab would have been too great.

Tidying up his desk, Johnny sits himself down on his office chair and ruminates on his current interest, who stares up at him from the tiny square photo laying at the corner of a rectangular piece of plastic. Mark Lee.

He would look divine splayed out on Johnny's desk or bed. Even more so on his dining table. But Johnny would like to get to know him before that. Find what goes on behind those engaging eyes and nervous smile.

But first, he has guests to attend to. Mr. Moon Taeil from the FBI's Behavioral Science Unit requested dinner and a chat, for what, Johnny still isn't sure. He has previously extended his skills in profiling criminals on several rare occasions. But even then the number of times he actually had a good talk with Mr. Moon himself was few and far between. Getting to discuss the psyche of killers with _the_ Moon Taeil is an opportunity he cannot pass over. If not to sate his curiosity, maybe to insert his will over one of the more powerful figures within the FBI.

Johnny checks his watch. 6.30pm. He has about an hour and half to whip up something worthy of Mr. Moon. Maybe something creative with the fresh meat he got a few days ago.

.

.

.

The long dining table sits at the center of an extravagant room. Lush deep tones of velvety green and blue decorate the walls and the centerpiece boasts gruesome floral artistry.

A similar motif follows the ornamental decorations of Dr. John Suh's home. Stag head figurines and bone white minimalist sculptures.

Moon Taeil has little interest in flowers or statues that look like they would shatter into a million pieces with a single touch. But he must admit the good doctor has an unnamable refined taste that flies right over his head. He shifts his wine glass just a bit to the right and tries not to clink the place settings of fine China and silverware, like a plebian.

He has worked with Suh a few times before and the doctor was unimaginably helpful in tracking down two of the worst killers Taeil had the displeasure of knowing in his career. A married couple massacring virgins and offering them to an unknown God. The fine details that built an accurate profile was meticulously crafted by Dr. Suh. Even though Taeil had not interacted with the man much and had left the grunt work to his employees, he was ever so thankful for Dr. Suh's help.

He tries to think up an appropriate issue of thanks for the doctor's expertise, and in the same breath ask for another favor without sounding rude. Though it is a bit distracting with the mouthwatering smells floating in from what he assumes is the direction of the kitchen. When Taeil had asked for a chat with the man, he'd expected to take the good doctor out for a meal somewhere upscale, wine and dine him before popping the question. But Dr.Suh had insisted on a more private chat at his place and a home cooked meal.

With Taeil's wife away on a month long business trip, he's mostly been surviving on take away and cup noodles, which at his age was an open invitation for a heart attack. In his sorry state passing up on a healthy home cooked meal would be criminal.

Not to mention, Dr. Suh is famous among the hobnobbing elites, who provide generous contributions to the BSU. Word on the vine is that he is a magnificent cook and hosts the most amazing parties. Taeil salivates and waits patiently for his dinner.

"Sorry about the wait. I was plating up our meal." Dr. Suh apologizes genially, laying down a dish in front of Taeil and another at the seat across from him.

Their dinner, much like Dr. Suh's house, is extravagant. Rosy slices of meat and assorted fillings circled by a blood red sauce and a smattering of vegetables. It looks good enough to be presented at a restaurant.

"Wow, I've heard about your cooking skills, but this exceeds expectations...it looks amazing" Taeil says, in awe.

Dr. Suh just smiles politely and gestures towards Taeil's cutlery. "I assure you it tastes even better."

It almost feels like a waste to disrupt the elegantly plated dinner, but hunger wins out in the end and Taeil digs in delicately. The meat melts on his tongue and the spices dance across his taste buds. It's nothing like he's ever tasted. Taeil pokes at the tender flesh and turns towards Dr. Suh, curious. "Definitely taste even better. Wish I could cook like this. But my cooking capabilities end at pouring hot water over some instant noodles I'm afraid." He chuckles ruefully.

"Your wife cooks, I assume."

"Yes. She's out of town for a while so this meal is even more appreciated. But I do have to ask what this meat is. I don't think I'm familiar with it."

Dr.Suh smirks and sips a bit of the red from his crystal cut glass. "Lamb heart, braised and stuffed with my own... concoction."

Taeil makes a tiny sound of surprise. "I've never had lamb. Especially not a lamb heart. I'm familiar with the taste of chicken and beef and the occasional salmon. But I must say, for something that sounds frightfully evil to butcher, lamb heart tastes... magnificent."

Dr. Suh huffs out a soft laugh. "You say it sounds evil to butcher a lamb, but you are fine with eating chicken or beef."

Taeil shakes his head chagrined. "Ahh yes...a side effect of denial. Still, I must admit that my palate is unrefined so excuses if I'm not praising you as appropriately as I should."

Dr. Suh waves him off. "Oh, not at all. But I am curious about why you requested to chat with me."

Taeil flushes, slightly embarrassed. A bit of hot food made him completely forget he was here on business.

"It's about our recruits from the FBI academy. I was wondering if you would be willing to share your knowledge with them on psychological profiling. Our usual lecturer has to take leave for a few weeks. His wife gave birth and he needs to be there for her. I was wondering if you can maybe fill in with a few special lectures? Just for about a month, once or twice a week? You will be handsomely compensated, of course.

Taeil feels a tad bit intimidated by Dr. Suh's stare.

"I'd be delighted. Anything for the up and coming generation. I can spare a few hours for the next month or so. And it would be quite amusing to see what your new recruits are like."

Well that was easier than he expected it to be. Taeil was ready to beg just a little. He knows how busy Dr. Suh is with his private practice and how ridiculous it would be to force him to provide lectures for the FBI on his own time.

But if the good doctor himself is enthusiastic about meeting the new recruits, it will work out just fine.

Taeil digs into the rest of his lamb heart and carries on a light hearted conversation. Whoever the doctor chooses to marry in the future is very lucky because God damn this taste even better than anything his wife cooks.

* * *

Unlike last week, Mark is early to the lecture. He's seated next to Jeno when Kim Doyoung strides in and smacks his files on the podium in excitement. Almost everyone in the room starts buzzing because Mr. Kim's lecture is set for the afternoon and it's still nine in the morning.

"Okay quiet down. I know Mr. Yoon normally does your morning lecture but he's indisposed for the next four weeks because of his newborn." There's a smattering of appreciative coos around the room but then a collective groan.

Doyoung rolls his eyes at their displeasure. "Don't be so rude you heathens, I'm not going to take over Mr. Yoon's lectures"

Mark can't believe a few of them have the audacity to cheer. He gets that Mr. Kim is a bit of a hardass, but he's good at what he does. 

"Yes yes. You don't like me, I know." Mr. Kim scowls. "Anyway. In Mr. Yoon's absence we are going to have a few guest lectures by a special person. He'll be joining us in a few minutes and I expect you to act decent. None of the bullshit you pull with me."

A grumble of acceptance rolls through the hall.

Mark is curious as to who would be subbing in for Mr. Yoon. Hopefully someone interesting. Someone who is not directly affiliated with the FBI. A fresh perspective to leech knowledge off of.

The chatter of students heave and then ebb when Mr. Kim ushers in a very tall, handsome man in an immaculate suit with a very familiar face. Mark gasps just a little and pokes Jeno right in his ribs.

"Dude it's that guy."

Jeno squints his eyes in confusion, "What guy? Mark you know I can't communicate with you telepathically. Use your damn words"

"That guy, from the supermarket. The really sexy dude that I ran into when I was out getting eggs last week." Mark whispers back under his breath.

The person in question climbs up onto the podium and stands beside Mr. Kim, smiling at the audience disarmingly.

"Like I said before, today we have a very special guest, Dr. John Suh. He's a well-known figure in certain circles, has his own practice and he even helped us out at the Behavioral Science unit one or twice." Mr. Kim announces with something akin to hero worship lacing his tone.

Mark has sort of heard of Dr. Suh. He remembers the rumors that plagued the halls of the academy, of how Moon Taeil had to bring in _outside help_ during a particularly difficult case.

He eyes Dr. Suh with some appreciation. For a man who is relatively young to be so successful is quite a feat. Not to mention how great he looks. Which honestly is beyond the point. But Mark has always had a thing for smart beautiful people. And if they are just a little bit older than him...well.

Jeno snickers and leans in. "I know you have a thing for the whole _daddy_ vibe that's going on with the new guy... but please act civilized."

Mark sometimes hates that they are all being taught psychological profiling. He loves digging into other people's brains but honestly, it often gets a little too annoying when he's the one that ends up getting analyzed.

He jabs a pointy finger into Jeno's side in retaliation for the comment and focuses back on Dr. Suh.

"Hello. I may not be a familiar face, but I hope today's discussion will be fruitful for everyone. My name is Dr. John Suh. And I think it would be quite interesting to start this lecture with the case I consulted on for the BSU."

Mark has a pretty good feeling that today's session is going to be very entertaining.

.

.

.

Jeno has a bad hunch that Mark is very much obsessed with their new guest lecturer. His smooth voice, sharp mind and maturity are sure fire traits that gets Mark all hot and bothered. Even if Mark refuses to admit it out loud.

They are maybe one and a half hours in, and Mark is so enamored with Dr. Suh that Jeno is pretty sure if Mark caught on fire, he would just sit there and burn. He has his eyes trained on every single move the doctor makes and hangs on to every word like it's gospel.

Jeno gets it. Dr. Suh has a certain charm. He is intimidating, but alluring at the same time. A bit like a Panther...or maybe a Cobra. He is undecided.

The last half hour passes by quickly and Jeno tries to be attentive, ignoring Mark's weirder than usual existence. Mark doesn't even ask a question during the QandA and Jeno is all but sure that Mark is gone for their guest lecturer. He's always so shy around people he likes and the current display of coyness is slightly sickening.

When Dr. Suh finishes off for the day and allows them to leave, Jeno packs up his books and waits for Mark to do the same. They are almost past the podium and out the door when Dr. Suh suddenly calls out Mark's name. Which is absurd as hell because Dr. Suh hadn't really asked any of them their names and Mark was especially quiet and unassuming throughout the lecture.

Mark seems equally disturbed. "Uhh,I'll see you in a bit I guess. Wait for me near the car." He says with an unsure shrug and walks back to where Dr. Suh is.

Jeno is hungry and he wants to leave as soon as possible. He hopes that Mark hurries up and doesn't make a mockery of himself in front of Dr. Suh. Then again….hope is for fools.

.

.

.

Mark's legs are shaky as he walks back to Dr. Suh. He's pretty sure he hasn't done anything wrong (or right) for Dr. Suh to call on him. Did he still remember Mark from the grocery store? Was he mad at him? Oh God, had Mark unknowingly ruined his suit that day after all?

"Hello. You are Mark Lee. yes?"

He nods.

"I think I have something of yours" Dr Suh says cordially and hands over a square shaped…. good Lord it's his wallet.

"Oh my God. Where did you find it?"

"At the grocery store. You must have dropped it when you bumped into me."

"Oh wow. I...thank you so much. I would have had to go through hell to get my license redone. Thank you so much for getting this back to me."

Dr. Suh crosses his hands and sits back against a stray desk that's standing next to the podium, bringing him down to just an inch taller than Mark rather than his original towering height. It's a bit more comfortable and Mark can actually look him in the eye without having to crane his neck up like a five year old.

"No problem at all. I was going to mail it as soon as I had a few free minutes to myself, but it was quite a surprise to see you in here today." Dr. Suh replies. His eyes are dancing with mirth, amused at Mark's flustered-ness.

"Again, thank you so much. Umm I...is there anything I can do to repay you. You really saved me some trouble by getting this back to me."

Dr. Suh stares at Mark contemplatively before giving a small nod. "Dinner"

It's not an entirely unexpected request, but Mark freaks out, because he's pretty much running on fumes at the moment and Dr. Suh doesn't seem like a person who'd be willing to grab a burger from a fast food place.

Catching onto Mark's distress, Dr. Suh laughs. "Dinner at _my_ place. I'll cook."

And that throws him for a loop because what in the blue hell is going on? Isn't he the one who's supposed to be returning the favor. Is he being hit on? Mark isn't really opposed to it, but was this even legal. Doesn't the academy have some rule on teacher-student interrelationships??

"Umm that's quite forward and uhh....is it appropriate...for me...to you know go to your place, doctor?"

He feels like a fool. Because Dr. Suh is watching him struggle and seems to be enjoying it. "So your objection would be that it's inappropriate? I'm just a guest lecturer. That rule doesn't necessarily apply. And I am actually quite interested in talking with you. You were very raptly listening to everything I said and even though _you_ didn't say anything….I feel like a conversation with you would be magnificent."

Mark giggles nervously….of course he wasn't being hit on by the very sexy Doctor. He was being invited for a _conversation_. And if that turns out to be an euphemism for sex well….Mark's ready to cross that bridge when he gets to it.

"Oh, right ok then. I'll join you for dinner...and a conversation."

"Perfect. You aren't allergic or picky about anything in particular, are you?"

Mark shakes his head no. Being picky with food has never been a problem. And he's been blessed so far in terms of not being allergic to anything.

"Be at my home this Saturday, around seven." Dr Suh holds out a business card. "This has the address for my private practice. My house is right next to it."

Mark takes the card and leaves with an awkward wave goodbye.

* * *

Saturday rolls around at a snail's pace and Mark doesn't see Dr Suh before then. He'd expected at least another lecture before the week was up, but Dr. Suh is a busy man and even Moon Taeil's bureaucracy couldn't get him to do more than one lecture for the week.

Mark leaves his car at home and takes an Uber to Dr. Suh 's place. Assuming that a meal does include some kind of alcohol being imbibed, he doesn't want to risk driving under influence at the end of the night. It's a bit presumptuous to think that Dr. Suh would offer him alcohol, but his entire vibe screamed rich wine snob to a certain extent and Mark likes to think he can assess a person to at least this degree. Else all the academy profiling lectures are definitely going to waste.

Mark hugs to his chest what he hopes is an appropriate bottle of wine found on short notice. Visiting Dr. Suh empty handed would be rude, so with the timely help of Donghyuck's aunt, a no nonsense tiger of a lady that scares the crap out of him, Mark braved a trip to the store and bought a bottle of wine that didn't look like it would offend Dr. Suh. His wallet weeps but at least he has his wallet back.

He tracks the little map on his phone and as the little blue dot nears the end of it's journey he looks up to see Dr. Suh's house looming into view. The Uber driver, who was completely silent throughout the trip nods with a soft thanks as Mark tips him a bit extra. Silence was always golden and the comfort of having his thoughts to himself during the trip was priceless.

Standing in front of the address that Dr. Suh gave, Mark takes in the arches of the entrance to the hauntingly gothic house. He has minimal understanding of architecture, but something about the place screams dark elegance and Mark feels a chill travel down his spine when he reaches up to ring the doorbell. It's odd, like his instincts are telling him to turn back, but before he can think too hard about it, the door opens to reveal Dr. Suh in a crisp white shirt and dark blue apron, his sleeves pushed back to display sturdy hands covered in flour. Mark fidgets with the edge of his sweater and tries to feel like he isn't under dressed.

"Hello. I'm so sorry for the state I'm in. But my last patient pushed their session back by half an hour and now I have to greet you with flour arms" Dr. Suh smiles humorously, but his eyes glint in annoyance, at himself or at his patients, Mark does not know. He eyes the veins decorating Dr. Suh's forearms and thrusts the bottle of wine into his flour covered hands.

"Umm, I... didn't know what you would like. Hope this is good." Mark stutters in a flustered daze. Dr. Suh takes the bottle in both hands and reads the label. The delighted exclamation makes Mark's heart pound inexplicably. So he was right on the money. Wine snob indeed, but courteous enough to accept Mark's meager gift.

"How thoughtful of you" Dr. Suh's eyes crinkle delightfully as he ushers Mark into the foyer and closes the door behind them.

It's like entering a fever dream. Everything from the wallpaper to the carpet is a weird juxtaposition of modern elegance and antiquity. Mark admires the beautiful paintings along the corridors, puttering after Dr. Suh with wide eyes. He's shown through a lovely dining room with deep blue walls and a long wooden table, to a sharply contrasting kitchen of bright white marble and steel.

"I'm afraid I'll have to entertain you in the kitchen while I cook." Dr. Suh politely pulls out a stool for Mark to sit on before heading towards the long row of cabinets and drawers.

"Let me put this into the wine cooler for now. It wouldn't pair well with what I've prepared for tonight, I'd rather bring out a Chardonnay that was gifted by another friend,.... if that's to your taste?"

Wine pairings are not a part of Mark's repertoire as he mostly drinks cheap beer. Alcohol has never been a necessity and he's not sure if he has ever tried Chardonnay before. But telling that to Dr. Suh feels a bit like unraveling a pathetically embarrassing secret. So he just nods, hoping that it isn't transparent how out of his element Mark actually is.

The gifted wine is put away and Dr. Suh takes his place behind the counter, right in front of Mark. There is a bowl of dough sitting on the marble, presumably what Dr. Suh had been attending to before Mark rang the bell. He gets back to it, sinking his long fingers in, stretching and folding the dough over and over. Mark is mesmerized by the strong forearms flexing with every move. Dr. Suh's folded sleeves and intense repetitive motion stirs something right under his ribs and travels down to settle near his belly.

Mark gulps and switches his gaze to the multitude of gleaming kitchen appliances, feeling like he's intruding on something intimate.

"So, Mark Lee, tell me a little bit about yourself. What do you do other than run into people in supermarkets with a shopping bag full of eggs."

It's like walking a tightrope. Every move, every breath he takes is telling. Dr. Suh is trained in profiling and Mark tries to put to use what little restraint he has in not squeaking as he answers.

"Oh. I'm nothing interesting really." He says with a shrug. It's true though, he's not really interesting. At least not to a psychiatrist anyway. No super dark back story. No haunted childhood. Just an ordinary person with a more than ordinary interest in serial killers. But that was a given. He's enrolled in the academy after all.

Keeping his eyes trained on his guest, Dr Suh gives a final pat to his dough and brings out a few small metal dishes. They look like baking trays but tiny and Mark wants to know what is being made.

"Oh, I doubt that you are uninteresting. There is something about you that caught my eye and I'd like to think my gut instincts aren't failing me." Dr. Suh twinkles at Mark, as if sharing a secret, and carefully lines the little trays with dough.

" I mean, I don't know what to tell you really. I like dogs if that's of any interest to you."

"It is. Now I know that I can freely discuss with you about the little puppy I had when I was a child. He was quite adorable, like you."

It flusters him. Mark has never been able to handle a complement well, but is it really just a complement or is Dr. Suh flirting with him? He grins shyly and redirects. "So is this for our dinner?" He asks, gesturing at the trays that are finally fully lined with dough.

"Dessert actually." Dr. Suh replies, uncovering a bowl of creamy goop. "Lemon tart. I've actually made salmon for the main and trust me you will never have anything as good."

It's overwhelming. Mark is so used to having takeout or depending on simple meals for a good part of his adult life, that having someone cook for him feels comforting. Even if that someone is an intimidatingly good-looking man who is leagues ahead of Mark in every way. "Oh wow. You've put so much effort into dinner. Thank you so much." Mark gushes.

"Oh, this is nothing." Dr. Suh dismisses Mark's praise, but amusement gleams in his eyes. The tart shells get pushed into the oven and Dr. Suh turns to wash his hands. Mark wordlessly stares at the broad shoulders shifting under the white glimmer of Dr. Suh's shirt and wonders why a psychiatrist is so immaculately fit and all around perfect as a person. 

After washing his hands Dr. Suh eases out the self acclaimed salmon, and plates it, entertaining Mark with an ostentatious display of pale pink fish sitting on a bed of greens. He's so engrossed in the little swishes and swirls of the spoon drizzling gleaming sauce over the plate, that the ding of the oven startles him.

"Ahh….. time to fill in the tarts." Dr. Suh says with a final flourish of his wrist and brings out the little dough filled trays. He pours in the lemon curd and places it back in the oven.

"If you could please get the bottle of Chardonnay from the cooler and make your way to the dining table, I think we can begin with our dinner." Dr. Suh picks up their plates expertly and urges Mark out of the kitchen. He walks back out to the magnificent dining room, eyeing the decorative pieces strategically placed around the room with intrigue.

"Your house is very _unique_. I like it."

"Thank you. I did enjoy myself in designing everything."

A plate is settled in front of him delicately before Dr. Suh takes the wine from Mark's hand and pours a generous helping into both their glasses. He then takes a seat at the head of the table.

Mark lays the burgundy toned napkin over his lap, waiting for Dr. Suh to do the same. A clink of their wine glasses is followed by tucking into the meal before them.

He shouldn't have been surprised, Mark supposes, the Salmon melts on his tongue and coats his mouth in buttery delight. He swallows the first bite in ecstasy and sighs. "Oh god. That's really good. It’s perfect"

Dr. Suh's lips curl around the edge of his wine glass in satisfaction. "Thank you. It gives me great pleasure when someone is so appreciative of my work."

Mark nods his head and digs back into the food. Occasionally stopping to sip some of the wine. He isn't entirely sure how much alcohol is actually in the drink, but Mark can feel the slight tipsiness rolling in by the last bite of his salmon.

Dr. Suh has been exchanging pleasantries in the meantime, asking him about his friends and how his lectures are going. Mark cannot fathom the reason for Dr. Suh's interest in him. He is after all a normal student among hundreds of others. Maybe just a little smarter than the rest, but nothing too special.

"So a bright young kid like you. In line for a dreary job. What drives you to this?"

Mark blames the wine in his glass. A fourth refill glimmering under the low light of Dr. Suh's dining room. "Oh...I actually got into everything because of the Ripper."

Dr. Suh's left eyebrow raises in a half twitch. "Oh? The Ripper? And how did he manage to grab the interest of someone as _sweet_ as you?"

Mark blushes and hopes the wine flush covers his embarrassment. Dr. Suh has quite the silver tongue.

"He is interesting in a ghastly sort of way to most. But I think his work is fascinating. It's different from others of his kind and all the little details. It's magnificent." Mark blabbers on enthusiastically. Except should he be this enthusiastic? Would Dr. Suh be scared off? He is a psychiatrist, but not one who deals with gruesome murders on the regular. Would he not find Mark's excitement just a tad bit psychotic? "Oh, I'm so sorry. Talking about a killer like that may seem unorthodox." Mark back tracks, eyes going wide.

"Oh no need to apologize." Dr. Suh soothes him. "Your eyes light up when you talk about your fascination with this killer and that intrigues me to no bounds."

Mark sighs in relief. "Ahh….do you think I'm odd?"

"Not at all. Excuse me for a moment while I bring the dessert out, and we'll talk more about the Ripper if you like?"

Mark nods in agreement and watches the doctor walk away with their finished dinner plates.

Johnny Suh is different from most others he'd met in this profession. So thoroughly put together, smart, and gorgeous in a way that makes him shiver. His tone is dark and smooth, and his eyes are so attentive it makes Mark feel discomfitingly _watched_. Not to mention his _stature_ from behind is broad and strong. Mark wonders how reliable those shoulders would be if he were to cling to them...and would they look pretty with scratch marks bleeding down from shoulder blade to waist. What would Dr. Suh look like, with Mark's legs wrapped around his hips and hands clawing at his.....

At the sound of footsteps returning Mark shakes his head and lets the thoughts fall loose. Oh, he's definitely drunk, imagining lewd things of his gracious host.

The lemon tarts look perfect. Dr Suh sets them down on the table with a secretive grin, like he knows what Mark has been thinking.

"Enjoy"

"Thank you." He whispers and presses the dessert spoon into the tart. It sinks into the creamy center and Mark's mouth salivates.

"You are such a polite boy." Dr. Suh hmms and delicately wraps his lips around a spoonful of his own tart, which to Mark's intoxicated gaze seems….sensual. But then again Dr. Suh has a certain grace that makes everything he does feel decadent. 

"I don't think I am a _boy_ , Dr. Suh." He knows he sounds whiney, childish and utterly against what he's trying to prove he's not. But the Chardonnay has unraveled his inhibitions and Mark can't be bothered to tone his voice to something more stable.

The look he gets in return is knowing, but Mark brushes it aside, hiding his face from Dr. Suh's scrutiny by getting back to his tart.

"So the Ripper. How exactly did you get into researching him?"

Mark feels strangely comfortable discussing it with Dr. Suh. No one has really listened to him this encouragingly. Most of the time he'd been met with distaste or stifled educational curiosity but never actual interest in all the things that made the Ripper so alluring to dissect. And the thing is no one has been able to understand the way Mark sees the Ripper and his artistry or the reason behind his killings. But Dr. Suh is smart enough to follow and he's not squeamish with the graphic retelling.

"He has such detailed ideas. Remember the murder that happened last November?" Mark asks. "The one where that construction worker was grafted onto a cherry blossom tree, his torso carved open and flowers found in his chest cavity? The flowers were grown there, not just stuffed into him haphazardly."

"I see. The Ripper is fond of overly elaborate displays, isn't he?" Dr. Suh chuckles.

"Yes. Sometimes I can't help but marvel at the amount of effort and time he puts into a single display. And I'm more than sure that the entire thing was almost a story. No one figured it out you see. I'm not so sure myself, but the Ripper, he elevates people to a new creation. Going through his murder file is like flipping through an art book. A portfolio of horror. It is gory yes...still…"

Dr. Suh gives a sympathetic nod of his head and pats Mark's hand. "I do understand. See, didn't I tell you that you are very interesting Mark Lee. Your obsession with the Ripper is such a contrast to this adorable persona you have."

Mark's hand curls involuntarily under Dr. Suh's grasp. He tries to dissuade the image that is being formed of him, like some fanatical wannabe, fixated on death. "Uh I wouldn't call it an obsession. It's….a harsh word. Professional curiosity would be better I guess."

Dr. Suh's little hmm does not make him feel any better.

"I guess we can call it that then. It's getting quite late. Would you like for me to call a cab for you?"

Mark looks up at the clock, ticking away on the mantel place and gasps. The hour hand sits precariously over eleven. How could the time have gone by so fast. "Yes please. I think it's best to get home. My roommate would be worried as well."

Dr. Suh shows him to the door and is kind enough to help Mark into his jacket, holding it out for him to slide his arms into. Mark is just a little surprised to find his hands being taken into Dr. Suh's own. The little squeeze he gets is reassuring though. "Get home safely then."

Mark is still wine drunk, so he isn't really at fault when he tiptoes up and plants a kiss on Dr. Suh's cheek. "Thank you so much for dinner. Everything was fantastic and thank you for humoring me and listening to all the gory details of the Ripper cases."

The smile he gets in return is devastatingly handsome. "It was my pleasure. And I hope you will come back and enjoy another meal with me soon. Same time next week if possible?"

Mark blushes furiously but nods in enthusiastic agreement.

* * *

"So…" Jeno trails off with a pointed look.

Mark isn't impressed by the judgmental stare. "So what?"

"You had dinner with Dr Suh…..who by the way is like a good fifteen years older than you and is like technically our teacher." Jeno bites into a ripe apple, with a wet crunch.

"We aren't in high school. He's not our _teacher_. And it's only _twelve_ years. "

"Still it's a bit weird...so did y'all fuck?"

Mark splutters around his uninspired PBandJ. Everything he'd eaten after Dr. Suh's meal tastes just this side of bland. "No Jesus. What kind of easy target do you think I am. A warm meal won't make me spread my legs."

Jeno snorts unbecomingly. "So you mean to say that he made you dinner and sent you back home? That's rather gentlemanly of him….. and kind of sounds like utter bullshit."

"Just shut up and have your lunch. Dr. Suh _is_ a gentleman. And he even was nice enough to talk with me like a normal person."

With the apple finished, Jeno skillfully lobs the core into a nearby trashcan. "Conversation is overrated. At least you got to eat some great food."

Mark finishes his sandwich with a disappointed sigh. Maybe if Dr. Suh was willing, he'll ask for a cooking lesson. His taste buds have been ruined for anything else and Mark plans on holding Dr. Suh accountable.

* * *

By the next Friday Mark is vibrating with anticipation, ready to spend another evening with Dr. Suh. He doesn't have money for another semi-expensive bottle of wine, so he turns up empty handed but a lot earlier than their discussed dinner time. His mission, to aid Dr. Suh in preparing their shared meal. Hopefully he doesn't burn down the doctor's lovely house.

"Thank you for coming early to help me with dinner." Mark watches the stretch of skin on display. Dr. Suh has a penchant for lovely suits that hide every inch of him from neck to toe and the flash of strong forearms, as he meticulously slices the meat has Mark feeling like a Victorian gentleman looking at ladies' exposed ankles.

"Ah no...I should be thanking you, Dr. Suh. You are feeding me. And it's a learning experience."

He'd been taught how to prepare the meat and sauté mushrooms, how to use spices to his advantage and how to select the best pairing of wine to go with everything. Mark hadn't known that meat thermometers were a thing before today. It truly has been a learning experience and he hopes that he's absorbed enough of Dr. Suh's teaching to make a fancy dinner for Jeno and Hyuck one of these days.

Mark watches in a trance as the roasted beef gets carved into delicate slices. Equal in thickness and perfectly portioned. "You are quite talented with a knife Dr. Suh."

"Left over training from my days as a surgeon."

This is news to Mark. He'd always thought Dr. Suh had been a psychiatrist his entire career. "Really? Why did you stop being a surgeon if you don't mind me asking"

"I made a few mistakes. And that made me realize, working with the mind leaves less room for error."

Based on these few weeks of association, in Mark's opinion, the words imperfection and Dr. Suh do not go together. What mistakes could he have made? Mark is curious, but Dr. Suh does not elaborate on his own terms, so he lets it be. He doesn't want to pry. That would be rude.

Dr. Suh gives a sad little shake of his head "That's in the past and irrelevant right now. It gave me a set of skills which were transferable and for that I am thankful. Of course when it comes to cutting meat, a sharp knife always helps. This can cut through you like hot butter." Dr. Suh says with a jovial laugh. The glinting edge of his meat cleaver leaves no doubt in Mark's mind.

"What are we making for dessert?" Mark asks, swinging his legs to and fro. The stools at the kitchen island are a hair too tall for him and he's getting used to sitting on them with his legs dangling a good two centimeters or so off the ground.

"Oh dessert has already been prepared. Don't worry your little head over that." Dr.Suh chuckles.

"Really? What is it? I'm not usually someone who loves sweets but the desserts you make can convert a man."

After the roast is plated, Mark is shown to the oven where their dessert is resting in its toasty warm depths. Orange halves, hollowed of its flesh and filled to the brim with chocolate creme.

Dr. Suh dips a dessert spoon into one of the makeshift orange dishes and holds it out to Mark with a sinful gleam in his eyes. "Sanguinaccio Dolce. I'll make an exception and allow you to try it before dinner"

The intimacy of being fed is not lost on Mark. A bout of unnamed courage allows him to coquettishly peek through his lashes as he licks the spoon clean, letting the luscious taste of chocolate fill his mouth. Unholy interest shines back from the amber depths of Dr. Suh's eyes.

"Sanguine… sanguine?... doesn't that mean blood in Italian?" Mark asks, cocking his head to the side and leaning against the marble countertop.

"Does it make you uncomfortable? Knowing that there's blood in this?" His question is met with another.

Mark shakes his head. "It isn't a problem. I mean our roast has blood in it. Why should this be any different". He has to tilt his head just a fraction more than usual to keep eye contact with Dr. Suh. He is a lot closer than he should be. Two more steps and his nose would bump right against Mark's forehead.

"Yes. Sanguinaccio Dolce is named so because it calls for blood in its recipe. It brings out the richness of the chocolate and the citrus notes of the orange complement it well doesn't it?"

"Yes. It's perfect. As expected," Mark sighs in satisfaction.

Dr. Suh wipes an errant dollop of the chocolate from the corner of Mark's mouth and places it in his own. "Yes, perfect."

* * *

Mr. Kim is antsier than usual, and Mark can understand why. Assumed Ripper killings have doubled in frequency and he's been taking all of his victim's hearts, apart from other fun bits and pieces. 

The entirety of the FBI is in bedlam, trying to figure out if the Ripper is expanding his MO or if this is actually a different person, a copycat.

There, of course, were discrepancies of profiling in the first place. The Ripper was boiled down to two files, detailing his methodical trifecta of killings every ten months or so. The bodies, relieved of their organs or limbs and handcrafted into grotesque art.

But the Ripper could have killed more than three people. He could have killed dozens upon dozens and displayed only three at a time. The FBI is so invested in picking apart and putting together a profile, they could have missed that glaring fact.

So the increased number of killings may not even be unusual. However, the fact that all the victims’ hearts are missing is.

Something changed in the Ripper's life and Mark so badly wants to know.

Jeno grimaces at the array of photos displayed on the screen. "I mean I get that he wants to take trophies but what the hell is he doing with someone's thigh? And draining blood? Is he doing witchcraft? Or maybe he's into Vampirism or something."

Whatever the Ripper is doing, it's surely something horribly grim.

* * *

Mark knows there is tension bubbling between them. But nothing untoward really happens. Dr. Suh is gentlemanly as ever, inviting him to dinner and plying him with unpronounceable dishes hailing from the eastern end of the world to the west. And Mark revels in hedonistic luxury during their Friday nights.

But the sad thing is he wants Dr. Suh to stop being so polite and put together. There's something horribly depraved itching just under the perfect exterior, waiting to be released, and Mark wants to poke and prod at it until he breaks.

It has been enjoyable so far, with Dr. Suh indulging Mark in talks of serial killers and psychopathy or music and cinematic masterpieces. And every time Dr. Suh engages him in enthusiastic repartee, he watches Mark with rapt attention, swallowing every laugh and gesture. Mark feels it and knows that a little push would go a long way in getting what he needs. Dr. Suh above him naked and wanting.

It's a little too easy when the time comes. Mark has this prickly feeling he's being played, but if it gets him what he wants, why should he look too deeply into it.

Their Friday dinner is done, but unlike other times a second bottle of expensive wine is opened, and their discussion moved to Dr. Suh's living room. Mark is snuggled into the comfort of a low armchair with Dr. Suh sitting in a matching one, directly across from him. The fully functional fireplace is lit to ward off the December chill and the second wine bottle rests on the table between them, a quarter shy of empty.

"You only have a few more months left at the academy, isn't that so?"

Mark sips his red and nods. "Yes. And hopefully Mr. Moon would be willing to have me on his team by then."

Everything he's done until now was to grab a position on the Behavioral Science Unit. To be governmentally sanctioned to peel apart the veil of the Ripper, to rummage and finally confirm what makes him tick. And Mark should feel a little embarrassed because his intentions were never patriotic. Just indulgent wiles that have brought him to where he is today. He thinks Dr. Suh can see it, what a selfish and self-serving individual he is. But there's never been a single shred of disgust against him and it makes Mark feel special.

"I could talk to Moon Taeil if you'd like?" Dr. Suh's smile doesn't really reach his eyes. Mark isn't so bad at this game that he doesn't see through the bait that is hung in front of him.

"Nepotism isn't really my style. And neither is it yours, Dr. Suh."

"Good boy." His pleased cadence is magnificently rich, covering Mark in its warmth making him keen a little inside. The praise tastes better than the wine in his hand and he wants more.

He's tipsier than usual, but Mark knows what he wants, and the look in Dr. Suh's eyes is telling, he is more than eager to comply. But Mark isn't sure how to approach the situation. Should he be the one to initiate? Or is it Dr. Suh's call. Will he be spending the night, or will he be leaving in a cab like all the times before?

"Mark, come here."

Looks like he will be staying.

.

.

.

He's seated in between Dr. Suh's- Johnny's legs.

The privilege of calling him _Johnny_ had been handed to him and Mark has been abusing it, whining Johnny's name for the last five minutes begging him, pawing at his dress pants.

"Please. Let me. I'll be so good."

"Sweetheart, look at you so desperate. So beautiful like this."

Mark tilts his head on to Johnny's knee and shows off his cheek bones under the soft light of the fireplace. He knows what angles to exploit, knows how to appear as the vision of himself that drives men wild. Mark is self-aware and is immodest about it.

His cheeks are taken into warm calloused palms and Johnny looks deep into his eyes, playing with him. If Mark wasn't this desperate, he could probably count each sweeping lash framing Johnny's deep amber gaze.

Mark leans in, wanting to be kissed, but Johnny holds him in place, fingers tightening around his jaw and thumb fondling his lower lip. So close, yet infuriatingly unwilling to yield those few inches between their lips.

"Please"

"Impatient." Johnny smirks and gives in. The first kiss is surprisingly gentle. A soft slide of tongue and teeth, grazing his lower lip till Mark opens up with a sigh. As he is with all his endeavors Johnny is also perfect at kissing. And Mark melts into his embrace, wine drunk and aroused.

"Johnny….can I please." The intent of his plea is carried across with a palm boldly caressing the erection straining at Johnny's slacks.

"Go ahead then."

And it's all the confirmation he needs. Mark clumsily struggles with the clasps of Johnny's pants and manages to pull down the zipper. He isn't surprised to see the silk boxers as leans forward to taste, wetting it further with his tongue.

One of Johnny's hands slides through his hair and settles at the back of his neck, fingers melding around the curve of his head. The other hand caresses his cheek in soft sweeps.

"Enough with the teasing, sweetheart."

"Mnn..oh...you don't like it?"

"I do but your mouth could be put to better use if the boxers were out of the way, wouldn't it?"

Mark giggles and tugs the blue silk down. Johnny's cock twitches up staining the edge of his shirt and Mark can't have that happening. He carefully takes it in hand and presses his lips to the head gauging Johnny's reaction. It's favorable, if the low groan is anything to go by. So Mark works his jaw open a little wider than he would normally have to and slides down the length.

Inebriation does little to deter his enthusiastic performance. Within a few minutes saliva pools around his mouth and gathers at the base of Johnny's cock.

"You are…...very good at this." Johnny's voice is strained and Mark revels in the hitch of breath and the tightening of fingers in his hair.

"Stop. I don't want to come just yet." A tug at his hair has Mark looking up in coy delight.

"Oh? What do you want to do then?"

Johnny urges him up on to his feet and leans back against the couch with a smirk. "Strip."

The tone of his voice makes Mark shudder. Commandeering, and self indulgent. Is he allowed to play just a little. Mark cocks his head to the side as if considering blatant disregard for Johnny's order. "Strip? Everything?"

"Yes everything"

He takes his time, slipping each button out of their loop and shrugging off his shirt. His belt and pants are next to go, along with his shoes and socks. The fire blessedly warms him as he stands in just his boxers. Mark tugs at the edge of his underwear and wriggles it down his legs, decidedly less sexily than he would like, but the alcohol pulsing through his veins leave him just a little too uncoordinated.

"Come here" Johnny pats his thighs invitingly.

Mark makes his way over on shaky legs and climbs on to Johnny's lap, placing his hands on Johnny's broad shoulders. It's surprisingly comfortable to settle down on strong thighs and to have warm palms slide over the curve of his ribs, down the side of his hips to settle over his ass. Johnny is a lot more sculpted than a person in his profession has a right to be.

"You are very fit Dr. Suh."

Mark's ass is swatted at playfully, "I told you, calling me Johnny is fine."

"I know, it's just kind of hard to slip into using _Johnny_ after calling you Dr. Suh for the past couple of weeks."

"It’s fine. And thank you for the compliment. I do have to keep myself in shape if I'm to make delicious meals all the time."

Mark sneaks a hand down from Johnny's shoulders to his midriff and presses down gently. "Can I?" He asks, fiddling with the buttons of Johnny's shirt. He's thankful that Johnny had discarded his jacket and vest before they had started on their meal. If he'd been forced to unravel Johnny's entire three piece set Mark would have gone mad with need.

"I don't know... can you?" Johnny asks, kneading Mark's ass. For someone who has just his dick out, he is pretty condescending.

"May I?" Mark asks again with a cheeky grin and leans in for a kiss. Johnny pulls him in, and it takes a little while for his answer to materialize from his lips and on to Mark's. "Yes, you may."

With appropriate haste Mark unbuttons Johnny's ridiculously expensive shirt. It feels a little like unwrapping a gift on Christmas morning and what he unveils is better than any Christmas gift he could ever get. Johnny is all muscled grace, broad shoulders tapering to strong arms and toned pecs to chiseled abs.

For some reason seeing Johnny out of his put togetherness tickles Mark pink. He's so used to _the Dr. John Suh_. Calm, collected and regal, swanning about with his wit and intelligence as if everyone else was beneath him.

But right now, he has Johnny under his palms, aroused and looking just about ready to eat him. It thrills Mark to his core to be able to rile him up to this extent.

"Sweetheart, we are going to have to move this to the bedroom if you want me to fuck you properly. I find it a bit crude to keep lubricant in my living room."

It sounds like a great idea, but Mark is afraid that either he'll chicken out or Johnny will come to realize this is a terrible idea if they take time moving to the bedroom.

"Uhh actually, I have lube in my pants pocket..." Mark whispers embarrassedly into Johnny's shoulder.

"Did you come prepared to seduce me?"

Mark whines. "No. I always have it with me. That and condoms"

Johnny huffs a laugh and drags Mark's pants close with his foot. It's a bit of a struggle to get the lube and condoms with Mark clinging to him in mortification. "You are deceptively adorable." Johnny chuckles as he slicks his hand up with the lube.

"I'm not." Mark sniffles a little indignantly but before he can say anything else Johnny has a finger in him stretching him out.

"Be a good boy for me and put some lube on my cock."

Mark empties the rest of the lube onto Johnny's erection as he gets opened up with two then three fingers. Coherent thoughts refuse to form in his mind and all he can whisper is _please please please_ as Johnny continues to finger him.

"Please what?"

"I think I'm ready. Please put it in"

"You are so beautiful." Johnny sighs and slips his fingers out to replace it with his cock. Mark whines loudly as he's maneuvered down on to Johnny's erection in one swift move.

"Oh god….. that…. that's intense." Mark whimpers into the crook of Johnny's neck. "Please give me a second"

He's petted and consoled until his need to be fucked takes over the discomfort of having Johnny in him.

"Please move."

Johnny kisses him once then twice before thrusting in with controlled jerks of his hips. Mark bounces on his lap, clinging on to Johnny's shoulders for dear life.

"Is this what you wanted sweetheart. From the day I met you in that shop I knew you wanted this. The way you looked at me…." Johnny croons into Mark's ear and speeds up his thrust to match the desperate litany of _ah ah ah_ leaving Mark's mouth.

"Yesss...how could I not. You are so perfect."

Johnny preens under the praise. "So are you my beautiful boy."

Mark's head spins and he's delirious with wine and pleasure coursing through him like molten gold. He'd never felt so good and it scares him a little because he would allow Johnny do anything to let him come, but he doesn't really have to.

Johnny fucks him hard and fast, the fingers of one hand digging into his thigh and the other fisted in his hair. Mark moans and trembles as he is so thoroughly broken apart and pieced back together again and again. He’s so close, teetering on the edge of an orgasm, waiting to wrack through his body….just a little more.

"That's it sweetheart. It feels good, yes?" Johnny croons, grazing the column of Mark's neck with his teeth. "Now all you have to do is let go. Come for me."

And he does, feeling the sharp bite of teeth at his neck and liquid warmth inside him. With it Mark falls unconscious .

* * *

He wakes up abruptly, but his body refuses to move and his eyes feel glued shut. Regardless of the odd dissociation between his mind and body Mark knows that he is awake.

Elbow deep in soft fluffy bedding , he listens to the subtle sound of chirping birds and muffled morning traffic that hums like the ocean. The events of last night play behind closed eyelids and Mark takes deep calculated breaths, trying not to panic too hard at what he did. Getting drunk and propositioning Dr. Suh - or is it Johnny now?-was not the way he wanted it to go down. A classier approach would have been better. Yet regret is the furthest thing on his mind.

He feels sore in all the good ways and a soft touch to the juncture of his tender neck confirms that Johnny really had bitten him. Mark presses against the wound and moans. God he's never been into pain before, but the way his body heats up at the thought of Johnny sinking his teeth into his neck again, or maybe the flesh of his thighs has Mark quivering with need.

Hastily pulling his hands away from the wound, Mark covers his face. His palms and forearms smell faintly of lavender. Had Johnny washed him and put him to bed after he'd fallen unconscious. Was he next to Mark then? Sleeping soundly?

Shuffling on to his side, as stealthily as he can, Mark cracks open an eye...Johnny _is_ next to him, or at least the naked upper half of his torso is. He trails greedy eyes over the dips of Johnny's shoulder blades down to the swell of his ass covered by a swath of blanket. The urge to squeeze tingles through Mark's fingers but he holds back and muffles a delighted giggle into his fist.

Absurdly enough, he is giddy as a teenager. The feeling tints his cheeks bright as he watches the steady rise and fall of Johnny's back. Mark is happy and hopeful. He's finally found someone who is interesting enough to keep him engrossed. Hyuck and Jeno would surely be ecstatic. They'd always twisted his fascination with the Ripper as the sole reason for his sad single lifestyle. But Johnny, lying next to him, warm and comforting, is proof that Mark's idiosyncrasies are not at fault.

He sighs and stretches lazily, thinking of ways to surprise Johnny. Maybe he should consider morning after etiquette and make breakfast for the two of them. Use all the learning that he's amassed on their Friday night cooking sessions.

Mark slinks off the edge of the bed, being careful not to jostle Johnny out of his sleep and pulls on the first thing his hand comes across. Johnny's shirt, a little wrinkled but big enough for him to drown in. It settles around midthigh, and Mark thinks that pants would be unnecessary. Afterall the boyfriend shirt is a coveted trend that even the ever unruffled Dr. Suh would appreciate.

He pads down to the kitchen and searches through the cupboards, trying to come up with a simple breakfast menu. Something straightforward, like scrambled eggs, would be best. Thoughts of more impressive dishes from waffles to blueberry pancakes cross his mind but it's best not to aim too high and end up with a burnt mess. So scrambled eggs it is.

Eggs, salt and milk. Maybe a little butter. So simple that even Mark couldn't mess it up.

But nature preludes nurture and Mark upends the open carton of milk right onto Johnny's lovely kitchen carpet.

He hurriedly picks the carton back up, but the damage is already dealt, with more than a good cup or two of milk splashed out and seeping into the rug.

The panic of making a mess leaves him after a few seconds and Mark gets busy with some kitchen towels. But strangely enough it's less soggy than expected. He lifts up the edge of the rug and finds that most of the liquid is trickling through the wooden floorboards and that's not good. If the milk isn't cleaned properly it'll start to rot, and smell, and Mark is going to end up ruining whatever he has with Johnny before it even starts. All over some spilt milk.

He shoves the carpet aside in dismay…..to find a grooved edge, which looks a lot like a trap door. It probably leads to a basement of some sort, why it's hidden though Mark has no clue. Johnny does seem to have an endless supply of expensive wine, maybe it's a secret wine cellar. If so, Mark is in even more trouble considering that the milk is now probably weeping onto bottles of Pinot Noir that cost more than his monthly rent.

Sighing in irritation Mark decides it's best to just go down there and clean it up. He slides his fingers into the groove on the floor and tugs open the trap door to be met with a waft of coldness and a set of stairs leading down. Armed with a few more paper towels Mark descends into the cold dark depths of Johnny's home.

* * *

_Be bold, be bold, but not too bold._

_Lest that your heart's blood should run cold._

* * *

It's not a wine cellar. Mark isn't really sure what it is. He fumbles with the light switch at the bottom of the stairs, but the single bulb that flickers on does little to chase away the darkness, somehow making the place even more ominous. The room is all dark stone and steel, morbidly sterile with a large metal table in the middle of it. He doesn't get a chance to look too closely at what graces the table as his eyes catch the assortment of equipment, methodically dotting the open space and the large freezer box standing imposingly at the very end.

He wants to move, to walk forward and inspect this bizarre architectural addition under Johnny's house, but something holds him back, a sense of dread creeping into his bones and sending a shiver down his spine. The paper towels fall from his hand and float on to the floor.

Mark stands there for a second or two, mulling over his options. He could just walk back upstairs and pretend he never saw this... whatever this is. Could turn away and not know what deep secrets lie under Johnny Suh's house. But curiosity outweighs the cold sensation gripping his heart.

The cogs in his brain start turning as he starts taking in the detail stepping further and further into the room. The sterile table, laden with what looks like butcher knives and medical equipment. The machinery that glint sharply from the four corners and finally the refrigerator. A dark morbid thing looming at the very end of the room, hiding something that Mark is finally putting together in his head piece by piece.

He opens the heavy door to the freezer and looks inside.

Hearts, the size of Mark's fist, meat, steaks and fillets of different sizes, bloody and bagged in perfectly sealed pouches. He had taken enough biology lessons to know what they are and where they came from. From an animal yes….of the two legged kind. 

Johnny does love his protein. Excluding their very first dinner, all meals after had exquisite portions of meat starring in all their dishes. And Johnny had enthusiastically identified each cut, heart and lungs and loin and everything in-between.

The Ripper loves taking his trophies,..., cutaway with medical precision. And who could be more methodical than Dr. John Suh. It makes sense in the most ludicrous of ways. Johnny did say that skills from his days as a surgeon were transferable. Apparently it wasn't just for cooking.

With the evidence laid bare, Mark can do nothing but come to accept it. Johnny Suh, the Ripper.

A hysterical giggle bursts forth.

He'd finally found a good man and it turns out to be the Ripper. The universe loves it's ironies.

Mark closes the fridge back with a click and realizes that he's not as afraid as he should be. Is it the adrenaline? No, he's not shaky and his breath is even paced. Johnny Suh is the Ripper, yet it doesn't bother him as much as it should. But would Johnny see it that way?

The Ripper is ruthless and cunning and has little use of anyone other than himself. He has often thought the Ripper has a God complex and when drawing parallels with Johnny, it's inevitably true. What is Mark to someone who believes they are God? He's written his own death sentence by coming down to the cellar, but he doesn't feel too bad about it, being elevated to art, or swallowed whole.

Of course he could sneak away, grab a plane and not return. Johnny's still asleep none the wiser, but he doesn't want to do that.

Strange...that his first thought wasn't to call the police. Moon Taeil would love to hear about this. But Mark feels like he has a little secret that he doesn't want to share. A selfish little secret he would like to keep tucked right under his ribs.

Because he wants Johnny. He wants to be doted on and called beautiful. To be loved in the way Johnny does. The good food is an added bonus….even if it is... controversial. But his life will always be a gamble if he decides to stay and he honestly feels like it's worth it.

Runaway or stay? Runaway or stay? It's a difficult choice, but one that has already been decided for him. 

He turns to find Johnny standing next to the table, knife in hand.

Mark sighs deeply and smiles.

* * *

Johnny wakes up to an empty bed. He had expected to find Mark curled up next to him, maybe avail himself to another round of more sober sex and a cuddle. He sighs and curbs his disappointment but the sound of clinking cutlery from the kitchen has him second guessing.

Ah the sweet boy is making breakfast. Johnny should have given him the benefit of the doubt. He refreshes himself in the en-suite and pulls on a sweater and pajama pants before climbing downstairs to the kitchen, hoping to help with whatever Mark is making. Eggs would be a safe bet.

Mark has been a delightful addition to his life and Johnny is utterly disappointed when he comes across an empty kitchen, his good rug soaked in milk and the trap door open.

He grabs his favorite knife from the counter and climbs down through the open hatch to his cellar.

Mark Lee is adorably drowning in his shirt while standing in front of his meat locker, most probably putting the pieces together. He's such a bright boy and Johnny truly likes him. It's really a shame. 

Mark gets it. Gets the Ripper like no one else. He has somehow crawled into Johnny's heart with his endearing laughs and unending enthusiasm, but now Johnny's going to have to deal with him. He truly would love Mark's heart for his own. If not metaphorically, a literal interpretation would have to suffice.

Johnny stops near the table and waits for Mark to finish having his epiphany, the hysterical giggle that resounds through the room settles in his heart with a pang. 

When Mark turns around, Johnny waits for the waterworks, the tears and exclamation of betrayal. But they never come. He edges around one corner of the table, and Mark mirrors him, moving himself away from Johnny and the deathly sharp knife in his hand. It's an odd standoff, circling around the table and trading their places.

Keeping his eyes locked with Johnny's, Mark gently walks backwards up to the cellar stairs, his only route of escape. But in reality there is none.

Johnny is confident in his physical prowess and Mark has nowhere to run except back up into the house which is Johnny's dominion. So he relaxes and waits....and waits....and waits.

But Mark makes no move to run.

He stands at the bottom step of the cellar stairs and takes Johnny in like a breath of fresh air, calm and completely put together, which is a surprise. Johnny revels in the self-indulgent smile that Mark has painted beautifully on his face and that eases some of the odd trepidation he has in his heart. He expected Mark to bolt, run like the devil was after him, which in this case was kind of true.

"Johnny," Mark says with a low steady voice, eyes bright and unafraid. He pops open the first two buttons of the shirt he's wearing and let's it slide invitingly off one shoulder.

"Please put the knife down and make us some breakfast. If I like it you can have me on the dining room table." Mark surveys the cellar with a pointed look "With recent developments, I can see that you've been wanting me on the dinner table and even if it isn't the way you expected, I think this way is……a lot more pleasant. Both for me and you, don't you think?"

Oh, Mark just needed a little nudge in the right direction. The beautiful creature before him isn't afraid. He's pleased by the fact that Johnny is who he is. Not just a killer. An artist with the ability to exalt the ordinary filth to something godly, be it in effigy or on the plate. And Johnny is being given a chance, a wonderful chance to court this magnificent boy. This smart beautiful boy who is all Johnny's.

Yes Johnny can see the appeal. Spending his life with someone who understands what he does, someone who can share in the intricacies of a well prepped meal, and regular politeness.

Johnny gently places the butchers knife back on the steel counter and picks out a slab of meat from his special freezer. He can make bacon strips to go with some eggs. Mark nods appreciatively at Johnny's selection and starts up the stairs without a backwards glance, and Johnny follows.

**Author's Note:**

> -Be bold, be bold, but not too bold.  
> Lest that your heart's blood should run cold.-
> 
> Quoted from [Mr. Fox](http://www.authorama.com/english-fairy-tales-29.html) An English folktale that has some good'ol cannibalism + a spunky lady. I read it when I was younger and has sort of haunted me since then. Go give it a read.  
>   
>   
> [twt](https://twitter.com/Rigma_role) I post art sometimes :D


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